


Monty and the Baby

by asparagusmama



Series: The Molly Hathaway-Lewis futurefic kidfic collection [6]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Cat's pov, M/M, Not Beta Read, because cat's aren't bi, but dogs are, cat's slight homophobia, explaining humans through dogs, revolting smells
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 10:02:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4475174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparagusmama/pseuds/asparagusmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monty is in the AU beginning at Cold Summer, he just stays out of the way. this is Monty's pov to the arrival of a baby that happens in white</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monty and the Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babyklingon](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=babyklingon), [Sardon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sardon/gifts), [RickardoTheAvacardo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RickardoTheAvacardo/gifts).



> babyklingon - this isn't turning out to be the fun thing of 5+ years ago at bedtime. Mind you, I'm not sure Fairies and Elves did either :) and as for when I finally post the last chapter of White, I have a feeling you might cringe, what with the whole Fairy Prince theme wedding suit (I have Hathaway in my head shouting ELVISH themed!) and grooms' maids dressed you designed at 10!!!
> 
> (I will try to get the rest written and up for your journey home, but I can't promise, as you know, yesterday did not go according to plan. Your Mama loves you, even if her best isn't good enough and is getting worse, and I can't even write for you so much, I'll do my very best!)
> 
> RickardoTheAvacardo and Sardon - this is for you, although the Monty pov stuff has never been shared before in the 5 years of Lewis story telling, I promise we didn't nick your wonder copper and his cat series. I do wonder what Emily and Monty would make of each other? anyway, I hope you enjoy my cat fic as much as I love yours xx

It had begun as an ordinary evening. Lewis had come home from work, but had obviously been going out somewhere else, as he had hurriedly showered, shaved and put on other clothes, not his work ones, but it had been a happy frenzy so Monty guessed James was involved. Or perhaps that female who sometimes fed him; the one who smelt of death, vets, and flowers. The important thing was that he hadn’t forgotten Monty’s bowl, he filled it with decent food before he left.

The night had been bitter, frosty, before it had begun to snow. Monty watched the snow fall slowly, little bits of fluffy cold, his tail twitching in annoyance, from the windowsill above the radiator, before he then curled up to sleep in his favourite armchair, the one in from of the radiator.

Monty was settled here, now, despite the differences with his previous home and human. Black had had a large house, rather than a tiny flat, and an even larger, ill kempt and therefore a wild and overgrown and joyful garden, rich in stocks of birds and rodent. Black had kept far more regular hours, so food always appeared at the same time morning and evening. He rarely had any other humans to visit, and when they did they stayed a short while only, in the study, and were never fed. Monty had never needed to interact with them.

But Lewis had been kind, taking him in after someone, it had been made clear to Monty some while after, had hunted and killed his human as if he had been no more than a mouse! Lewis caught the killer. That, apparently, was his job, and why the food was less regular in its times, why Lewis came and went at odd hours, came home reeking of death at times. Mind you, Lewis made up for it with many titbits, hardly a day went by when Lewis did not share from his own plate or takeaway, and when it was just the two of them, he did not ever object to Monty helping himself to that tasty bit of fish or meat.

James, of course, seemed to have other ideas about what a cat might be allowed to do! James was what Lewis called his ‘sergeant’, his subordinate officer in the police. At first Monty assumed this was somewhat like one of Black’s research students, who came and went over the years, but later he realised not. Black had very few friends, but humans in general seemed to have them, needed them. They tended to be pack animals like dogs, Monty had observed since he was a kitten. But then again, Lewis was a hunter of rogue human killers, and James was part of his hunting pack, so must be beta to his alpha. In some ways humans were as infuriatingly simple as dogs!

More like dogs than Monty had ever known, he had found out over the past few months. At first, James visited in the morning, and sometimes at other, odd hours, and they would rush to a new case. Then there became a regular Friday takeaway, TV, and beer night in front of the TV. It had started, Monty gathered, soon after he himself had come to live with Lewis. Black’s killer had shot James before they apprehended him, and Lewis had coddled him for a while. Monty soon had learnt not to help himself to any takeaway treat on those Fridays, James could get quite stern. James had a bony lap too, but Monty still found himself drawn to the young yellow furred human. He seemed to almost understand cat speak, if not quite communicate much of it himself. He was handicapped, of course, by his human physiogamy.

So, when James had shown up very badly injured and distressed in the early hours of one morning, Monty had remained close at hand, watching from his favourite chair, tail twitching in worry, as Lewis tended to him then took him away to the human vets. They had returned hours later, James smelling of disinfectant and drugs, his bruising and cuts cleaned but more vivid on his face, wrists, and ankles. Monty had tried to comfort him but he had shuddered as Monty rubbed himself about his legs, purring. Too much pain, Monty supposed. Later still, after James had taken it on himself to clean the flat instead of the grumpy woman who came in twice a week for an hour – Monty made himself scarce on those occasions – and then, bizarrely, had crept into Lewis’ bed and curled up at the end. Monty had been confused and afraid of the injuries, the smells, and the strange emotions he’d not previously ever seen in either men, so had left.

Fortunately there was always Mrs Heath, who called him Tiger, and gave him delicious treats of snippets of cheese, and tins of salmon and tuna, and sometimes even a whole kipper.

After the injuries, things did not go back to normal. James was there more and more. Then men began to kiss and cuddle on the sofa, kiss and hold hands in the kitchen, give each other long looks, all things Monty knew led to human mating! He knew Lewis was no fool, and had already had offspring – Monty liked and approved of Lyn! – So perhaps he wanted no more young? Humans, unlike cats, or dogs even, Monty thought grudgingly, pair-bonded to raise their young, like birds, often, like birds, for life. Perhaps they pair-bonded for other reasons? Obviously, unknown to Monty, humans, like dogs, mated for fun and even with their own sex. Dogs were foolish, stupid, creatures, but humans gave warmth and food and shelter, so their strange ways were to be tolerated and respected, if not understood.

This new almost but not quite mating did not make Lewis happy though, not for a long time. Shouts, tears, pushing away and sometimes even punches, hits and kicks came from James as much as any kissing and expected submissive behaviour. If Lewis had been an alpha dog he’d have bitten James on the neck and shown him his place, but instead he was all placating tones of calm and kindness and gentle, reassuring, body language. Monty made himself scarce then, only coming back when James had left. On those occasions, Lewis would massage Monty’s fur, bury his face in Monty’s side, and talked the same things over and over. He would tell Monty that James was scared, that he was damaged and broken, that too many people had hurt him as a child and also now, that he wanted to make everything right for James. But he didn’t know how.

Those were the nights when there were tears in Lewis eyes as he slept. Monty washed them away gently with his tongue as Lewis slept on and stayed close by. Then there were nights of tears for Val, Lyn’s mother, and also sometimes calls for a person called ‘Morse’, and nights when all the dead bodies and suffering would get to his new human, and he wept for them. Monty stayed with him then too. He wasn’t even sure Lewis knew he wept in his sleep, but dreams were good, they helped you through and showed you things. In Monty’s dreams he sometimes saw Black as he was when they first met, a young Don who had picked him out from his litter of brothers and sisters, and in other dreams he sat on the basket of his bike, wheeling though Oxford, living in a room tinier than this flat. In other dreams he was in his garden, Black older, Monty’s kitten hood far behind, the students visiting. Then in others he remembered how Black had cried so much, drank so much, been so unhappy, only his research alone making him happy. He had little time for Monty after the drinking began and the car had been sold. Only leaving out food and drink. And he used to get so upset at the presents Monty brought, the dead mice and birds. He never had before the car went. Where did humans go when they died? He hoped Black was happy again.

Lewis and James had returned later that night, a bit worse for wear with drink, but merry and happy with it. The snow in their hair soon melted and made Monty sneeze as he came to say hello. When they tumbled into bed, obviously intent on mating, Monty made himself scarce. He had watched one or two times, out of curiosity, and he liked to be near his human when he didn’t see him for long periods of time, but the men were not keen on him being there, and he had, in the past, had a pillow thrown had him and been scooted out of the door too many times to stay.

He returned to the bedroom, alarmed, sometime later, because the radiator had stopped working and the temperature of the flat was plummeting. He found both men equally shivering, pulling clothing back on, Lewis fetching the spare quilt and putting it on top of his own. James them went to fetch warm drinks for them, including a saucer of warm milk for Monty. There were many reasons Monty did appreciate James as much as Lewis in his own way, this was one of them. Then the men snuggled back under the pile of duvets while Monty made a nest between their legs, and warm enough, all three slept together.

Yes, an ordinarily enough day, apart from the inexplicable cold. Lewis said the heating had ‘packed up, what did he pay the bloody service charge on his rent for?’

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously good cats go to the HeavySide Layer when they die :)


End file.
